The Game's Afoot
by Inexplicably Kyprioth
Summary: Gamers unite! Or rather, Ed and Roy game and potentially unite. The score's a draw, the controllers are smashed and incinerated... What's going on? Who will win... and gain four ranks! Now available with 'Roy, Gorgeous in Green' plushie.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** If I owned FMA, AL would get to keep his kittens. Lots and lots of them. However, Ed makes him give them up for seriously weak arguments ('no way to keep them' my foot!), therefore I must not own FMA.

**Prologue**

"The Fuhrer's promised _what?_" Ed asked in complete disbelief.

"The one who wins the upcoming Ultimate Fantasy Bloodbath XVII tournament gets promoted four ranks." Al repeated patiently.

"What a stupid idea." Ed decided, turning back to face the wall to polish his arm some more. The shine of it was very important. For alchemical purposes.

"That is precisely what Lieutenant-Corporal Hughes said you would say, Nii-san." Al continued. "He also said it was rather strange, considering what four ranks would put you at."

"What?" Ed asked when Al appeared to be saying no more.

"He said for you to think about it. And he said _Colonel _Mustang wants to see you."

"Colonel Mustang?" Ed repeated, leaping up in fury. His voice deepened as he aped his superior taking a crack at his voice. Al tuned out, but the irritated imitation stopped mid-sentence. "_Colonel_ Mustang?" Ed asked, suddenly pensive. "Y'know, if I won, I'd be Major-General Edward Elric."

Al waited.

"YAHOO!" Ed shouted, jumping upward punching the air. "Oh yeah! Take that! Major-General, Mustang! _In your face!_"

"Brother?" Al asked, trotting to keep up as Ed sprinted towards the mess hall, where Al had told him the sign-up sheet was. "Nii-san, are you all right?"

"Major General." Ed muttered, grinning madly.

Chapter 1 

Roy Mustang, after a brief and tiresome meeting with that harebrained Ed, strode in his typical Aloof and Solitary manner into the mess hall. It was buzzing today, he noted. Everyone was deliberately not clustering around the notice board, which was particularly suspicious, as most days there were at least a few people checking up on news. Not that Mustang needed such venues. He was half way across the hall when he overheard a snatch of conversation that brought him up short.

"Strong-Arm…Silver Bullet…Fullmetal…joined…and Silver…"

Mustang stormed over to the notice board, noticing several fingers jammed at it.

**Attention All Military Officers!**

Ever wanted to be recognized for your secret talents? Or just raised above the rank of a rival? Now is your chance! By order of the Fuhrer, a video gaming tournament has been declared, focused around the Fuhrer's personal favorite game, Ultimate Fantasy Bloodbath XVII. The winner of this tournament will be promoted

FOUR

RANKS!

Promoted four ranks? And that upstart Fullmetal, Edward Elric, was on the list, Mustang saw, the name scrawled in handwriting typical of children Ed's size. Four ranks? That would make Ed –

Major General.

This would never do.

Mustang snatched a pen from nearby – never mind that it was from the hand of another alchemist – and carefully wrote his name below Ed's. His handwriting, he noted, was much better than Fullmetal's.

"_He _signed up?" Ed asked, horrified.

"That's what I said." Al replied, tired of repeating himself.

Ed, who had been reclining, satisfied in the belief that, as he was the best alchemist, he could easily beat all the other challengers, fell off his perch at the edge of the bed. That happened when one tried to sit up in two directions at once.

"He. Can. Not. Win." Ed informed Al.

"Of course you'll win, brother. You're the best."

"Of course I am!" Ed gloried briefly. "But if that Colonel is in on it, I've got to _smear _him. Into the _ground_. Let's get a practice session." He leapt for the door. Al quickly dodged out of his way before following.

"What is Ultimate Fantasy Bloodbath XVII, anyway?" Ed added as they headed for the gaming rooms.

Armstrong and Fuery, longtime UFB practice partners, looked down at Ed and smirked. Fuery was particularly happy with this arrangement as a) he usually didn't get to smirk and b) he usually didn't get to look down at anyone.

"You want to practice with us, eh?" Armstrong asked after some time. "Well, you can't. UFB is one – or two-player only. That's mostly why the tournament's taking place over three days."

Al clapped a gauntlet around Ed's face and spoke for him. "My brother would not intrude, but he needs to know the controls. After he's gotten them down and beaten you, I'm sure he would move on."

Fuery looked for a time at the overly egotistical Ed and his idolizing sibling and thought. If Ed was as good as Ed thought Ed was, then it wouldn't be an issue for long. And once he knew the controls, he was bound to dump them anyway. Perhaps he would transmute a control set bigger so Al could help him train. Al playing a video game? Fuery could almost see those huge gauntlets tapping madly at an oversized control set. Although throwing it down if he lost would be problematic, but that was Ed's problem. Hmm. Ed's problem. Oh, yes, Fuery was making a decision.

"Lieutenant Fuery!" Mustang's voice called. The distant Colonel was surveying the overcrowded gaming room with distaste. And an expression that clearly said he had a new argument to make Fuery do his paperwork for him.

"Ah – be right back." A thought struck Fuery. "All right, we'll train you." He added. Armstrong looked oddly at him. "On one condition."

"What?" Ed asked.

Fuery held out the kitten he'd been concealing under his military jacket.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: **If I owned FMA, Ed would be allowed to make Roy uncomfortable sometimes.. He isn't. And I'm dreadfully curious to see what would happen if the Colonel _were_ uncomfortable. In any case: I obviously don't own FMA.

**Chapter 2**

It had taken some time, but Al had persuaded Ed that it was worth it. Besides, if they lost the tournament, the deal was off; Fuery knew Ed wasn't allowed to keep pets any more than he was. And then Armstrong, experienced haggler that he was, just _had _to break in and say they had to find homes for the parrot, chinchilla, and eldest kitten first.

Ed had found a way out. He'd released the parrot into the forest for some lucky child to find, the rodent into Mustang's room (with much whispering, metallic tiptoes, and giggling), and found a nurse who was won over at discovering a kitten on her stomach when she woke up. So he was practicing.

It was too bad he was an alchemist, for the controls were constantly the focus of Ed's vented wrath. And then again, it was a good thing he was an alchemist, for if he weren't, he'd have spent more time repairing than playing, although perhaps this would have taught him a bit of level-headedness, Mustang reflected.

Mustang was officially not practicing. Behind closed doors, however –this being his closet, which Fuery, who had stumbled in on it one day, found scarily large and neat for being a secret – he had set up a gaming system. He had also coerced Fuery into teaching him to play. He had gotten far further than Fullmetal.

"Having difficulties?" He drawled. "It must be hard to hit that orc, seeing as you're a third of his size."

Despite this being a reference to his pixels' height (the character was, after all, a dwarf; rather tall for a dwarf, actually), Ed exploded in typical Ed fashion. Al held him back until he calmed down enough to properly reshape the walls of the room. Most of the other officers practicing remained oblivious to this event.

"All right, Colonel." Ed tried not to sneer. "I challenge you." He gestured to the screen, where – oops, his character was dead. Mustang smirked.

"Very well." He conceded, accepting controls from Armstrong.

Ed won the battle, Roy decided as he fled the gaming room, but the war was not yet over.

It wasn't his fault he wasn't stupid enough to start the game on Nightmarish Viciously Hair-Curling Bloody Hard.

"They're going to hurt themselves." Al murmured worriedly to Fuery, his gaze fixed on the way Ed and Mustang, at their third battle this week, were pounding at the controls. "Ed already has bruised thumbs."

Fuery gently smuggled a third kitten into Al's stomach. "They'll be fine." He assured the giant robot.

"I don't know about that." Al replied. It was, after all, their third battle, and Mustang had won the second. "Ed _has_ to win this one."

Fuery, who was training mustang, found himself disagreeing. "No, Mustang will. He's gotten better – you saw he beat Ed last time."

"But that made Ed practice harder." Al countered. "Mustang will – see? Ed won points for a special move."

"Mustang's already got one he's saving up." Fuery defended.

"Mustang's a conservationist coward." Al explained. "He'll save it until it's too late. Thinks he can win with regular attacks."

"But Ed wastes the things. Look, Mustang's defending. And there it goes." The two watched in brain-dead awe as a flash of colorful light indicated Ed wasting his special attack. "See, I told you." Fuery added as the fight continued.

"If they were smart, they'd use their specials when the other one was leaping. As then." Armstrong rumbled.

"They have no technique." Fuery agreed.

"Yet." Al defended.

_Pokepokepokepokepokepoke! _Ed wished he could actually _hit _Mustang. He'd worked all the way up to that special to have Mustang waste it. But he was still winning; Mustang was low on health and didn't look like he had any healing potions left. Ed had two, and a bit more health than Mustang.

Using a racial special ability, Ed (screen name ) leaped to the top of a rock pile. After Mustang's dig at his dwarven height, Ed had switched to playing barbarians, which were tall. And now he had the advantage. Mustang's scurrying little Dark Elf figure was racing for the steps – he could climb the pile, but that would expose him to attack. Not that he wasn't already exposed; he'd fallen right into Ed's trap.

_Bangbangbangbangbangbang. _The gaming maintenance team had insisted Ed switch his automail arm to a more specialized clay one, after he'd torn apart three controllers. Waste of alchemical talent, they'd said, but they meant they were having more trouble tearing Ed away from the screen to fix them.

Ed's barbarian leaped down at Roy's figure, his axe held high above his head, and swung.

"Should have used a smaller axe and a shield down below." Armstrong rumbled from behind a door. He was right; Roy had apparently taken Armstrong's inaudible advice from before, and his character had stealthily drawn a Dark Elven crossbow.

_Flashflashflashflash! Thwock! _Mustang's special ability killed Ed's character before Ed could heal.

"Beep!" Ed cursed, throwing his controller down in disgust.

"Had enough yet, Fullmetal?" Mustang asked, falsely arrogant. Ed had really shaken him.

"Look at the screen." Ed sulked exultantly. UFB took everything into account, and though the Colonel's blow had killed his character, the corpse remained falling, and flattened the immobile Dark Elf below.

"Beep!" Mustang cursed. However, not being childish like Ed, he did not throw his controller down. He incinerated it.


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: **If I owned FMA, there would be a lot more chocolate involved. It does not usually involve truckloads of Belgian extra-dark chocolate with cacao nibs and cranberries and almonds, and truckloads of truffles in flavors both cayenne and tea, nor do brownies often feature. Willy Wonka has not yet made an appearance, nor have they found themselves confronted by the Dreaded Chocolate Palace of Doom (Beware of Stomach Aches). I must not own FMA.

**Chapter 3**

The game was still a draw. The players were still being idiots. It had been five hours, and the watchers were now lounging across the observing room, eating.

"D'you think they'll quit?" Someone asked, of the variety that had come in some time later, being tired and curious.

"I'm worried about them." Al replied, meaning Ed, and his stomach purred resoundingly. There were, after all, seven kittens in it. Al still thought it was only one very fat, very loud kitten. "They haven't eaten lunch yet."

"Who, the kitten –" Fuery stopped and backtracked, realizing that this was an incriminating statement. "Oh, you mean Ed and Roy."

Al nodded. Sounds of gears and metal were heard. "They'll get cranky. Then they'll get in a fight, and Colonel – Roy will have to go to the hospital."

This sparked a new round of bets among those waiting. "You sure Ed would win? Roy is the Flame Alchemist."

"And Ed's the Fullmetal Alchemist. Plus, he's got those limbs, and hungry as they are it's bound to come down to a fist fight." Bet-tokens changed hands.

"QUIT STARING AT MY BROTHER!" Al exploded. The room blinked art him in surprise for a second – this was Al, not Ed – then cleared out, very obediently and very quietly. No one really wanted Al mad at him.

"That was effective." Hughes commented. "You should do it more often."

"I didn't mean to." Al replied sheepishly, shuffling gigantic metal feet and staring at the floor.

"So – how do you plan to get food into them?" Hughes asked. Fuery, who was always watching, had the strange idea that Hughes was grooming Al as his successor. No, no, surely not. Al was too sweet, and didn't have the conniving sort of mind Hughes did. Hughes could be sweet too, but he constantly plotted. Al didn't plot.

"Fuery, you've been training Roy." Al told him. Fuery startled. That was a secret! Done in a closet! "Tell him you have a super secret tip that you always use to beat Armstrong, and it'll work on Ed too because Armstrong trains him. I'll get Armstrong to tell him the same thing. But they have to promise to back off long enough to get it down, and not to do this sort of thing again. It doesn't help to constantly fight the same person."

Or maybe Al did have a plotting mind, Fuery reflected. He'd certainly, somehow, gotten Fuery to try it. Fuery still didn't quite get that part. _Fuery _was the conniving one, loading extra kittens into Al's tummy. Al was the big sweet little brother with the strange string of horsehair coming off his head.

What was the deal with that horse hair, anyway? Did Ed use it to keep Al from running off? Was it so Al had more to grip when his head fell off? Maybe it was some sort of super secret mechanical…_thing_. Fuery would have to ask Hughes. And then, if Hughes didn't know, maybe Hughes would ask Winry.

Or maybe he'd ask Roy. Fuery didn't talk to Hughes often, but he and Roy were drinking partners. Hmm… ooh, there was Armstrong, maybe they could get a duel in while Ed and Roy ate. They never got to practice anymore, what with their demanding students. Slow students, too, Fuery grumbled. But they made sure the kitties were happy and safe.

"He smuggled seven kittens into your stomach while you weren't looking." Ed repeated in disbelief.

"Yes, brother." Al agreed. He had known, though. They were just such pretty kitties… Fuery had a talent for finding little felines. A reputation in the cat underworld. And now Ed, who could do _anything_, was taking care of them.

"Right." Ed sighed. "I think there's a tailor in Resembool…" 


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: **Why doesn't Ed ever have a bad hair day? And who cuts his hair, anyway? Surely not Al… who taught him to braid? When did he learn? When did he grow his hair out? There should be an entire episode devoted to Ed's hair. But there isn't. Therefore, I cannot own FMA.

**Chapter 4**

"Al, there are no _hairbrushes! _ Anywhere!" Ed lamented loudly.

Al said nothing. He knew there weren't any hair brushes; he'd removed them himself. Ed had _way _too many hairbrushes. He hadn't realized he'd gotten all of them, though; it was difficult to tell, the way Ed secreted them.

There was nothing for it. Ed collapsed to the ground with a moan. He produced a Miscellania from his pocket, one of the many things Ed kept around for emergencies. This one was a toy soldier.

_Clap, smack._ Ed transmuted the soldier into a shiny new hairbrush, red. It glistened enticingly, menacingly, like a plastic siren.

"Uh, Nii-san…" Al warned, but it was too late. Years of practice had turned Ed into a braiding machine. He was already fastening the tie to the end of his new braid.

"Sorry, Al, gotta go. See about shipping a few cats to Risembool, will ya?" And Ed the Energy Ball was out the door.

Ed did not realize just how much he looked like a lion until he caught a glimpse of himself in a silent gaming screen as he went to challenge Roy. Surprisingly, his first thoughts were not along the lines of 'Fascinating! The alchemical energy must have translated into excessive static energy lying dormant in the brush.' No, for once in his life, Ed's thoughts were not so much as worded in alchemical terms. He froze, staring. Glanced quickly around. Ran a hand a foot over his head to see if it was really that staticy.

It was. Ed bolted, clamping his arms over his head to keep the hair down.

Roy Mustang was wearing pink.

Curse all government workers, his clothes were all being laundered. So he had to wear pink. At the same time that Ed usually came to him and demanded that they duel.

A-and as usual, Ed was coming thundering through the game room, _clank, step, clank, step, clank – screeeech._

Mustang stared. That was _not _Ed. Surely. But – he was in Ed's clothes. He walked like Ed. He had Ed's golden eyes, Ed's posture. Maybe it was Al in proper form? But no, this person moved with Ed's mechanical reflexes…

And Mustang was in pink. Unbelievable. Surely not. Mustang wore military coats, which really didn't suit him. If he wore a nice green, for example, to bring out his eyes – but pink was just _wrong. _Admittedly, Roy looked better in pink than Ed would have guessed. Maybe Roy just looked good in everything; he certainly pulled a military coat off pretty well. But pink was _not _his color.

"I can explain." Roy assured Ed hastily as Ed panicked. Ed did not listen. He just unthinkingly clapped and slapped, and Roy was no longer in pink. Nor was he in the military uniform Ed had rather intended. No, it was green, and…kinda…worse than the pink.

Roy did look good in green. It was just the style of the green Ed had chosen that… the _image_.

Roy looked down. "Ed, you're _touching _me." He informed Fullmetal.

"You never call me Ed." Ed realized, hastily withdrawing his hands.

"What happened to your hair?" Roy asked, wanting to get off the subject of – it was green. Not navy. Roy lifted an arm and peered at it curiously.

"Um, there weren't any hairbrushes." Ed told him hastily. "I had to transmute one. Fascinating consequences…" He prattled on as Roy examined his new regalia. Really, really _not _what Ed had meant to do.

It was a poet's shirt, Roy realized, disturbed that he knew what to call it. A poet's shirt in a pale spring green, and a forest green waistcoat. That wasn't the worst, though. There was a jet black – no, it was just dark green, and Roy realized he'd need to look up a name for this color – pair of Darcy pants. Yes, Roy had watched Pride and Prejudice. It was a secret. And then there were crystal white knee socks. _Knee socks!_ At least Ed hadn't messed with the shoes. At least Roy's shoes hadn't gone through the wash. Roy had a sudden mental image of leprechaun-oid buckled shoes.

"Allow me to fix your hair." Roy growled at Ed. Ed took a step back.

"Uh…" He said, but couldn't think of an excuse. "Have you got a brush?"

"Almost." Roy assured him. "Stay here." He didn't want Ed to see his apparel kit.

Now, where was it? Cologne, a comb, deodorant, shoe polish, clothes brush – ah, there it was. Hairbrush. Now, why _did _Roy have a hairbrush? His hair wasn't long enough to require more than a comb, and he couldn't have predicted that he'd end up brushing Ed's hair. And there was the anti-frizz solution, and the bottle of water. Roy thought it was lavender scented this time round, but it could be rosemary or clove. Or maybe lavender clove, Roy couldn't remember if he'd gotten around to mixing those two or not.

Ed gaped as Roy returned. Where had he _found _this stuff?

"Shut your mouth and turn around." Roy ordered, from behind his verdant attire. Ed did not tremble as he obeyed. Did _not _tremble. No matter how scary this was, he was _not _going to –

"_Ow!_"

"Hold still." Roy ordered. "Static makes your hair tangly."

"You hit me with the brush!"

Roy repeated the maneuver. "Quit squirming."

He decided, as revenge for the green clothes, that Ed would not get his normal braid. It was inefficient anyway – bits were always getting caught on things and pulled out, to judge by the number of blond hairs floating around Central. No one else had hair as long or that color. Anyway, Ed needed a… _different_… style. He began to French braid the sides, pulling it into a single braid at the back.

"That's weird. Don't you know how to braid?" Ed objected, trying to twist and get a look in a screen. Roy squirted him with the spray. Ed sneezed.

"Yes, I do. _Hold still_." With a few more deft pulls and some squirts from the de-frizz and water bottles, Roy tied off the braid. In green. Celadon, to be precise.

The tension on Ed's head relaxed. Tentatively, Ed turned his head. Roy didn't whack him with the brush. Ed glanced at a gaming screen, to once again use it as a mirror. He wasn't quite sure what to think.

"It's not a braid." He commented gingerly.

"Yes it is. It's a French braid." Roy corrected him, starting to walk off to return his equipment to its proper spot.

"A French braid?" Ed didn't even know what that _was_. How did Roy know how to do it? "Where did you –"

"In France. I had long hair. Don't ask." Roy rounded a corner. This was good. He was getting back to his usual Dark and Broodingly Turning Corners. Talking to people without looking at them. And yep, there came Ed, bounding along behind him.

"If you get to mess with my hair, I get to mess with yours." Ed demanded.

"You messed with my clothes. Do I get to mess with your clothes?" He ought to. Hair, after all, was such a small thing compared with an entire change of wardrobe.

"I'll fix them." Ed offered. "I'm not sure where they came from. It – just – do you want the pink ones back? Or should I change the green to black and white?"

Roy considered this. He really ought to get the pink back, seeing as would kill him if he didn't. However, there was only so much lack of dignity he was willing to suffer. Overall, the green was probably an improvement… pink… jogging suit… Roy shuddered. No wonder Ed's first reaction had been transmutation.

But if he got to make Ed wear whatever he wanted…Roy _liked_ the idea.


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: **I absolutely abhor the time travel paradox. Paradoxes, really. They are far too complicated. And when you add the difficulty of mental vs. physical aging - ! I would _never _go there. FMA does. Therefore, I cannot own nor forgive FMA.

**Chapter 5**

No one was quite sure why the Fullmetal Alchemist was wearing lavender leggings, knee high boots, a royal purple belted tunic and a white poet's shirt, nor why the Flame Alchemist had also converted to poets' shirts and had added the innovation of a waistcoat. Nor why Ed was going around in French braids now, and Roy had many little braids all over his head with little green bows. It was only for a day, but news traveled fast, particularly news of this caliber. It was really quite shocking. And they hadn't dueled yet.

Ed felt sore. This might be because he kept stiffening whenever someone looked at him. It wasn't that he didn't like these clothes, or that he liked them, they were comfortable, but he _was _a state alchemist. Fullmetal. Something along those lines. And in purple. It didn't make any sense. Or maybe it did. He couldn't really tell, being too confused and completely unsure what to think about these clothes. Except that they were comfortable. And that Roy was in green.

He was trying to hide in the gaming room. It had enough things sticking up all over that this should have been easy. It really was the perfect room to hide from the numerous people who kept wandering past places they didn't normally go, their eyes widening at the confirmation of the rumor when they saw him. Yes, the gaming room was perfect, with screens and controls sticking up all over the place, and a general dark feeling with glowing pixels marking paths.

It was just difficult to hide with a seven-foot suit of armor following you.

Roy had it worse, of course, Ed reminded himself, wishing he could think of a polite way to tell Al to go away, or follow a misleading track, or _something _so he could crawl under a desk somewhere and –

Be found by Colonel Mustang, along with a crack about him being short. Ed sighed and ran a hand over the strange lumps along his head. French braid? There wasn't a single reference to a French braid in all of Ed's experience, nor any of his readings. Roy had probably made it up.

What the heck was Colonel Mustang doing making up hair dos?

"Brother," Al said, probably the fourteenth time. He was starting to get worried. Ed looked positively haunted, and was apparently deaf to the world. Maybe the plan was a bad idea.

For once, Ed heard him. He spun around, looking like death incarnate and also in lavender, and his eyes brightened. "Does the Colonel want to see me?" He asked hopefully. Al was confused. Ed _never _wanted the Colonel to want to see him. "Does he want to send me away somewhere?"

Al shrugged, causing most people nearby to wince. His armor was not made for that movement. "The Colonel has other problems." He informed Ed. "I don't think your costume was… quite… Colonel-ish."

"_That's _all you wanted to tell me?" Ed asked. "I don't care. Roy – I mean, Colonel Mustang – looks good in green."

"And you look good in lavender, I'm sure." Al agreed. Ed scowled.

"What did you want, Al?" He asked.

_Well, mostly to see what made you jump at soft noises and look like the main characters of Metropolis, _Al thought. Although at the same time, Ed looked oddly relaxed. It was strange to find that in someone simultaneously jumping around like a rabbit who has caught the scent of a fox.

"I wanted to say something random and follow you." Al informed his brother. "That's all."

Ed sighed and rolled under a table to try to decide whether he liked this development or not.

Al could have told Ed that Roy was having more troubles than he was. It was certainly true. Ed had the option of attempting to hide, even if Al's current form rather ruled that possibility out. Roy had to sit in his office and be Colonel Mustang.

In green. A _lot _of green.

Roy wasn't sure _what _Ed had been thinking. He liked poets' shirts too, but this was altogether too much green. And a pale green poets' shirt? The loss of Ed's mother must have affected his sense of fashion. That and reading _waaay _too many alchemy books. How obsessed could a kid get?

Roy sighed and, for at least the sixteenth time that morning, snapped his attention back to the person he was supposed to be debriefing. And, for at least the fifth time, that person was looking expectantly at him. Roy didn't usually mind that people looked at him like that – he just minded actually not minding what they were saying. Usually he assumed a distracted expression for the irritation value of it.

"What were you saying?"

The man looked irritated and began again. Controlled his anger much better than Ed did. If Ed were here, of course, Roy would have cracked a ton of bad short jokes by now, and probably would have heard what was being said. But Ed had not needed debriefing in ages. He would explode soon, Roy could tell. There was a certain tension of unrelieved energies hanging about any room Ed was in. He needed to go look for a philosopher's stone.

The man had finished talking, Roy noted. He'd have to bluff.

"Yes, I see." Roy stated mystically. Really, this whole green thing was helping. "I will talk to my fellow officers about it." The man seemed confused, but vaguely happy. Whatever _had _he been talking about? And who _was _he? Where had he been, what had he been doing to need debriefing. "In fact, you may want to report this to Lieutenant Colonel Hughes in person."

Well, that solved that. Hughes could pay attention, and Roy had sent the man off happy, if a bit mystified as to why whatever he had to say was so important. Roy spoke to the air.

"I'm going to do paperwork now." He informed it, knowing this would force whoever he was supposed to talk to into an indefinite period of waiting, which was good for them. No one in the army learned proper patience. Certainly not Ed…

Roy pulled out a stack of papers. He had absolutely no intention of doing anything with them. In fact, he wanted to just snap his fingers and watch as they lit with a glorious golden combustion… but they were an excuse, a necessary one. Roy carefully printed about six things, then, secretly filled with joy, threw his pen across the room, snapping at it before it had gone two feet.

Whoever cleaned his office wouldn't be happy, but since when did Roy care about that? No, he stormed gleefully off down the halls.

He hadn't dueled Ed yet, you see.


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer:** There really ought to be a reason for zippers. Especially Ed's. After all, he has it for episode after episode, no explanation, and then he doesn't. Why is it there? If I owned FMA, I would thoroughly explore this issue. I don't.

**Chapter 6**

Ed's username used to be Eldest. He liked that, because it implied tallest. It was brief, accurate, and had the wonderful implications of 'tall,' 'wise,' 'strong,' etc. Of course, Colonel Mustang had come around and watched him play for about three seconds before remarking, "My, what a… letter-challenged… username you have."

He meant short.

"WHO ARE YOU CALLING SO SHORT HE NEEDS A STOOL TO LOOK A MIDGET IN THE EYE?"

Before Ed's username was Eldest, he wanted it to be Tallblondeandhandsome, but that was one character – _one lousy character _– too long. The program wouldn't let him have it. Al had suggested he use the ampersand (&) key. Ed refused to resort to cheap tactics and chatspeak, though it wasn't. Besides, Roy would have said something like 'shortening things, are you?'

It had taken him ages to come up with the right username. It had to be twenty characters or less. It had to imply tall. At first, he'd used Imtallandelricsrock, which _just _met the limit, but after the deaths score began to shamefully outnumber the wins, he'd ditched it. It didn't matter that he was learning, that he could get it back. That would have taken _effort_, anyway. No, he went back to the drawing board for an unwrinkled username.

Al had suggested Kumquat, for unknown reasons.

AltimetricAlchemist.

It meant tall.

Roy had given him a funny look when he saw it, something that _might _be interpreted as confused, possibly not knowing what altimetric meant. Ed had used a thesaurus.

Al was pleased. When people wanted to call on Ed's character in the game, they couldn't type altimetricalchemist every single time. Instead, they called him Al. Some guessed at his true identity, calling him Al or Alphonse, or – occasionally – 'Hey, Armstrong, when did you get a new username?' That was a bit disturbing, but Armstrong was tall, so Ed enjoyed this attention.

_AltimetricAlchemist damages Talldarkandhandsome 67._

Roy had had no trouble coming up with a username. Talldarkandhandsome had fit just perfectly, one under the limit. He had wanted something involving the word tall, just to shove it in Ed's face that he was taller than the young Elric. A certain character had popped into his head, but not only was it too obscure to get the point across, but Roy was _not _going to let anyone know what he read in his spare time. Even if he did like Ja – a little too much. So he used the description instead.

_Talldarkandhandsome damages AltimetricAlchemist 85._

Roy smugly sneered at Ed. Eighteen more damage than Little Blondie had done! Roy's typical dark elf figure darted to one side of Ed's normal barbarian, a pixel creation that looked disturbingly like it belonged in Armstrong's family. Unfortunately, Ed's swing, which would have missed if the elf had dodged backwards, simply swung further.

_AltimetricAlchemist damages Talldarkandhandsome 132._

And Roy didn't even get to retaliate because he'd been busy dodging! Roy used a healing potion, wondering where the vials went when he was finished with them, or maybe it was just a gulp from a healing vat or keg or something. But when you picked them up they looked individual! And though you might pour them into the keg, the vials would still have to go _somewhere_, and you didn't even get to sell th – right. Running. That was it.

The nimble elf darted ahead of the looming barbarian, laughing at the other character's slow-footed attempts to catch him. _Smack_, into a cliff wall. Roy pounded his controls.

"Get up, get up, get up, get up, get _up!_" He ordered, unused to having his orders disobeyed by anyone but Hawkeye, Elric, Fuery, Havoc, Falman, Breda – okay, so no one obeyed his orders. "Get up!"

The elf finally obeyed, and managed to get the barbarian's axe stuck in the cliff. Although Roy thought this unfair, as the axe never got _dulled _by crashing into a huge pile of rock. Oh, no. It hit his poor little elf just as hard.

Not that he was one who wouldn't take advantage. The elf managed to land a hasty 43, 75, and 12 before it had to duck and scamper away on all fours.

"_Twelve?_" That irritating Elric asked, snickering. "You hit a _twelve? _Pathetic."

"At least I hit _something_, which you can't seem to do." Roy retorted, irritated, as he climbed the grappling hook he'd just sent off the cliff at the end of a wide loop he'd done to escape the barbarian's axe.

"Only because you're too cowardly to stand and fight. Or too weak." Rather uselessly, Roy's rope was now some six feet shorter. How tall _was _that barbarian? The elf started climbing faster as Ed's character put in some long strides to take the path up the cliff. If Ed got there first and chopped the rope… Roy didn't want to _think _how many hit points he'd lose. He ate an apple in hopes that that would let him survive until he could quaff a potion.

"I use my character's talents to their best advantage." Roy granted condescendingly.

"Running away." Ed clarified. "It is suitable, selecting a character whose task is to sit on the outskirts of a fight and fire from afar." Ed paused a moment to enjoy this pun. Roy's character drew a crossbow and got a good hit in, destroying Ed's line of thought. "Oh, you want _fast, _do you?" He snarled, and drew a mace from his right back pocket. The axe went into the left back pocket, where most kept a bow, but Ed was not in to long-distance warfare. The barbarian charged. "You want _fast?_"

Elf scampered, sheathing crossbow for sword. He had to stay a few steps ahead of the barbarian or Ed would _push _him off the cliff, and he couldn't turn or the barbarian would cut the corner and hit him. Surely, though, at this speed he'd get around the world, or to a no-violence town, or to the end of the map, which he could bounce off and get hit by, but still get away from Ed.

Something flashed on Roy's screen. A special attack, eh? Roy grinned. Usually he saved these. Ed knew this. So, just to be unpredictable, the elf ground to a sudden halt. This caused them both to land in a heap, but the elf's agility got him to his feet first. As the barbarian started to stand, Roy jumped up into the air and sailed down, blade first – Ed's favorite move. About an inch away from the barbarian, there was a great flash, accompanied by brightly colored words of such stunning vocabulary as 'bang!' and 'pow!'

"You got a new special." Ed commented, dazed. He had been _winning _that fight. Now he was lying on the ground waiting for Roy to finish him off. And that blasted little swirling white light wouldn't let him get up…

Roy wasn't doing anything. Ed paused, risking a glance away from the screen at Roy's hands, which were still protruding from that pretty green poet's shirt. The hands were still. The elf was standing over the fallen barbarian, taking deep breaths.

"Well? Get it over with!" Ed snapped.

In an unprecedented display of mercy, the elf just turned and walked away, leaving a _very _confused Ed in its wake. He was so confused he didn't take the opportunity to charge and split the elf down the middle before they got far enough apart without action that the screen went blank.


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer: **If I owned FMA… oh, if I owned FMA… but I don't. Very, very sadly. And Ed is very glad that I don't, as are most of the other characters. They've had glimpses of Gwendolen. (My newly discovered psychotic yaoi muse, though I think she's more of a psychotic anime-in-general muse)

**Chapter 7**

To be honest, Ed was plain old freaked out. He didn't understand. _Why _would Roy spare him? It had totally skewed his score – a win got you _much _more points than a draw. It made elder Elric nervous, and so he paced. His room wasn't long enough, so he went up and down a hall way. Then he'd gotten kicked out because, as it was a second story, the metallic tramping had managed to bother two floors of people.

It wasn't doing him any good anyway. He didn't know enough about Roy. Aside from the possibility of a link between Roy's Ishbal Adventure and Ed's pixel character, but that didn't make any sense, and besides, it hadn't been that sort of look on Roy's face anyway. That look was more haunted. This look was more… dazed. Roy looked like Ed felt.

The really awful thing was that Ed didn't know what to do about it. This was happening more and more frequently recently – pacing, incomprehension, a lack of something to do about it. _Normally _he could just whack something's head off and possible kill the seal below, and all would be well. Or else head off somewhere and _find _something to tear apart. Life was too complicated anymore. If only the Colonel would send him off on a mission – but no, that couldn't happen until he'd won the tournament.

But what to do about life's general incomprehe – of course! It wasn't a particularly appealing plan, but it was something to _do_, and surely Lieutenant Colonel Pictures-of-Elysia would know something he should be doing.

With a whirl of sudden purpose, Ed strode firmly down the hall.

"QUIT CLANKING!" An annoyed office worker bellowed behind him.

Hughes was _very _happy to get a visit. He usually had to go out and find people. In fact, it was so odd for someone to come seeking _him_ that those who did rarely found him, as he didn't tend to frequent anywhere in particular. Except, perhaps, the mess hall, where plenty of victims were to be found.

But to be visited – to be found in his office, in particular! This was heaven. Particularly for Ed, who was promptly sat in a chair while Hughes decided which bookshelf to take a photo album from.

"Uh… " Ed began.

"Perfect! Elysia in the last year – that's _this _wall, you see – outside – that's this shelf." Hughes plucked a rather grey-brown album from the shelf. On closer inspection, it was not grey-brown, but it was so layered with paint that it looked that way. "You see? Elysia painted it herself."

"Uh… yeah." Ed agreed. "Sir? I wanted to ask you…"

"Oh, she's fine." Hughes interrupted.

"_No! Not _Elysia, and _not _Gracia either! Could you please just tell me what to do?"

Hughes paused. Some of the Elysia fervor died from his eyes, replaced, very briefly, by calculation. It passed. "Feet itching?"

"Er… I'm just confused."

Hughes pulled the chair intended for him around so it faced Ed, rather than was beside him for better shared viewing of the pictures. "Confused regarding what? That new game?"

"No, no, I have Armstrong for that." Ed assured him. "Well, yes, actually. But not about playing. You duel, see, and –"

"I know how to play Ultimate Fantasy Bloodbath XVII." Hughes assured him calmly. "Continue."

"Well, I was dueling Roy – you know that. But he won. Only he didn't. I mean, he had me flat on my face, and he _should _have dealt the Match Blow, but… he… Talldarkandhandsome just walked away."

"That's Colonel Mustang's screen name?" Hughes confirmed.

"Yeah. I'm AltimetricAlchemist."

"Interesting." Hughes raised his eyebrows. "Talldarkandhandsome."

"It _is _the general consensus."

"Yours too?"

"Lieutenant Colonel!" Ed protested. "That's not what I meant. I was just explaining that it was a fitting name, and Roy – I mean Mustang – is obviously aware of this. I expected something like AlmightyFlameAlchemy – which does fit, by the way, if only just – but apparently he wanted to be identified. Or that's more how he thinks of himself. Or something. I dunno." Ed thought a moment. He'd expected Hughes to say something by now, but the man just sat and looked expectantly at him. Ed ran back up the conversation. "It's not the only thing I'm confused about, though. I mean, you have to have heard of… ah… the new clothes Mustang and I are wearing."

Hughes' mouth twitched. "Something along those lines, yes."

"It wasn't my fault! It was _pink_. Pink isn't Roy's color. Colonel Mustang's, I mean. He looks better in green…"

"And apparently you look better in purple. Oh, don't look like that, it's definitely an improvement over the zipper, and that cloak of yours is downright tatty."

"Excuse me! That cloak –"

"Really must go. Colonel Mustang was right. In fact, you need an entirely new wardrobe. You should go shopping. Take Al with you, I think, he has good sense, and Falman and Hawkeye need new outfits, and Mustang has some sense as well as needing something to wear to the tournament. In fact, I'll organize some parties, shopping buddies and all that. Be sure to get an outfit for the tournament, Ed, it's next week remember."

"But –"

"Don't but, you asked me something to do. Unless you'd like to go over my Elysia-in-her-room-with-the-teddy-bear-she-named-after-Fuery albums?" Hughes rose, his excitement growing again. Ed leaped to his feet before he could be pinned again.

"Shopping will be fine. I'll go find Al."

"Good. You can go tomorrow. I'll have the parties drawn up by then." Hughes assured him. Ed galloped down the hall.

"AND QUIT CLANKING!" An officer in Hughes' hallway shouted after him.


	8. Chapter 8

**Disclaimer: **If I owned FMA, there would be a logical explanation for Envy's hair, possibly involving quarks. In fact, quarks would come into things quite often. Everyone who watched it would be able to recite the six varieties of quarks, which I don't _think _they can, therefore I must not own FMA.

**Chapter 8**

"Why couldn't we just use alchemy on our old clothes?" Ed grumbled, waiting in front of the statue where Hughes had said he'd meet his partner. Al hadn't even been allowed to come – Riza had commanded his 'expert advice', claiming she needed all the resources she could get if she was to force Breda into something decent. "It works perfectly well."

"The wear remains." A voice informed him. "Believe me, Fullmetal, I tried." Ed whirled, and there was – Roy. And Sheska, to Ed's great relief; for a moment he had thought Roy would be his partner.

Roy looked around, trying to be casual, but truly desperate. Ed wasn't with anyone. Sheska had kindly consented to walk him to the statue, since he was all jittery and she was meeting Winry – the two of them were taking the day to go to book stores, automail shops, and cafés, since the boys would be occupied.

Not even _Al _was here. Ed never went _anywhere _without Al. Roy was scared.

"All right, then, sir, I'll go find Winry now."

Roy tried not to break down. He jerked Sheska to the other side of the statue where Ed couldn't see them. "You _can't _leave me here with _him_."

"He's your partner. You agreed. You need new clothes. And I'm already late." Sheska informed him. "Sorry, sir."

"I'll do the paperwork!" Roy begged. "I'll sit down and do…" He paused. He certainly wasn't going to promise to do _all _of it, not when he could get it for… "_thirty _pages."

"Sorry, sir, he's your part –"

"_Fifty!_"

"Sir."

"Oh, blast." Roy cursed, and rounded the statue. "All right, Fullmetal, let's get this over with."

"No, no, Roy, you can't wear that shade of yellow. It looks _horrendous_. Try _this_ shade of yellow." Ed pulled the shirt off the rack he was examining. Roy thought it looked exactly the same.

"Fine, but you really _cannot _wear that red. Honestly, you have no taste. It's worse than your old rag. Try this." Roy shoved some lovely burnt orange turtlenecks at Ed.

By the time they had worked their way to the dressing rooms, they had only managed to get there by dint of giving up, having too much to carry. Giggling, the two separated, only to rejoin each other in the hall multiple times in various outfits.

"But honestly, Roy," Ed asked, finally changing back into his normal clothes and _seriously _rethinking his opinion of shopping, "do you think the pine green or that lovely mahogany would be better for the tournament?"

"I rest my case: the red would be best suited to the occasion."

"But it clashes terribly with my hair!"

"So does your face. But if you're that upset, I think you'd better go with that burnt orange-gold combo, it's lovely. Now, the principle of Equal Exchange – and be honest – are you _quite _sure I'm a pastel person? It doesn't seem quite _me_."

"Trust me, Roy, and _please_ shun black. It makes you look stupid. I don't care how much melodrama you like, ditch the dark. Particularly that horrid red and black _thing_, you look like the Pied Piper. Pale yellow, that's the ticket."

Roy looked dubiously at the clothing Ed had chosen for him. He wasn't sure _anyone _could look good in it. To be frank… skipping to a different ending for the choice, Roy alighted on the fact that he didn't trust Ed's fashion sense. It was difficult to do so, after months of watching the kid go around in that awful cape like it was a security blanket… and that _zipper_… surely even military uniform would look better than that on him.

"Well, I guess we're finished here, then." Ed decided, looking over the bounty of clothes. He fumbled through his pockets and eventually produced a list so grimy and crumpled it made Roy wince. Roy liked papers flat and white and perfect – it was one of the half-reason excuses he gave for not doing paperwork. "All that's left is our tournament clothes and hair gel (optional)." Ed paused. "Hair gel?" His eyes glowed. "Really? Like the stuff you can use to make your hair go up in spikes, or waves, or a Mohawk or something?"

"Yes, like that." Roy admitted grudgingly, although once he thought about it, the idea sounded fun. He remembered playing with hair gel and faces, a long time ago before Ishbal or the military or even alchemy… he suddenly wanted to do something nice for Ed, possible because he had given Roy a nice memory. "I'll handle the hair stuff."

As they turned toward the checkout lane, a shopkeeper exulted.

"They can be on a theme. Like costumes. You can dress up like your character." Ed pointed out grudgingly after Roy had desperately thrown his most recent offering back on the rack.

Roy bit his tongue to keep from pointing out that dressing little Edward like a hulking barbarian would be a farce. He didn't want it to look like picking on a stupid little kid when he finally creamed Elric.

"Sure, drama." He admitted. "But not that sort of drama. If you dressed up like your character…" Roy paused, trying to think of a diplomatic way to do this. "Overalls aren't your style."

"They're suspended shorts, he has to have _somewhere _to put his battle axe, but I see your point." Ed admitted. Cooling down, he realized he didn't want to dress Roy up like a Dark Elf, either. If it were some sort of costume ball with shadowy gardens, maybe, but in a tightly packed room with tons of flickering screens, it would just be wrong. "Hey! Maybe I can wear my cape!"

Roy paled with horror. He had ever so subtly managed to bury the garment in the bottom of one of his shopping bags at the first opportunity. Hughes had a point: the cape was an awful, tatty, ripped, badly darned piece of clothing, and he intended to throw it out when he got back to headquarters.

"You always wear your cape. It wouldn't be special." He countered hastily.

"Well, quit just dissing my ideas and come up with something yourself!" Ed fumed.

Roy thought. Ed would appreciate a theme, preferably something that let him do something horrible to his hair. That made things difficult. And Roy's mind was suddenly blank about what sort of people wore cool clothes, or even ones that Ed would look good in.

Perhaps… something dark. Brooding. Cool. Ed would like to look cool. Roy would never say this because it would result in broken bones and probable pain, but Ed normally looked cute, not cool or dangerous. But black… Ed looked quite good in black. And if he had mirrored sunglasses, he'd adore Roy forever for suggesting them. And a long, dark cape, which would mean that the red one would stay far buried. With a big hood he could pull over his eyes, though knowing the tiny blond, the cape and glasses would be on the floor as he got excited and needed to see better. And for the main garments… tight black jeans and a tight black t-shirt with a silver transmutation circle on the front. Yep, that was the dark magician effect Ed would go for. Or it was emo. Hard to say.

Roy, however, did not need such effects. No, his costume would be _hot_. Black cargo pants. Tight black T-shirt. A black leather jacket. Black leather boots.

He did not realize that he would match Ed perfectly.


	9. Chapter 9

**Disclaimer: **If I owned FMA, they would so incredibly _not _have left… erm, ahem. There would not be such a horribly _wrong _bit at the end of Shamballa (trying to be nice to those of you who haven't seen it, assuming you exist). Or rather, there would be, but it would be fixed much more promptly. It hasn't been, so I must not own FMA.

**Chapter 9**

And then, suddenly, it was almost time for the tournament, and Ed retreated in a panic to Roy, who knew what he was supposed to look like and how it should happen. To his surprise, Roy was looking for him as well.

"It won't go on!" The Colonel wailed as soon as he saw Ed, brandishing a boot. Ed couldn't see where he was confused. Roy's costume was _easy_.

"You have to shove." Ed explained.

"But it'll burst!"

"Nah. The things are bizarrely sturdy." Ed assured him.

"How do you know?"

"Not telling." It had to do with Winry. Ed was _definitely _not telling.

"Bet it had to do with that blonde mechanic." Roy guessed.

How did he do that? "Just shove." Ed ordered. "And tell me where you put your arms in this thing." He held out the cloak, which was all over his arms and then some.

"There should be arm holes!" Roy protested. "Somewhere!"

"Not that I can find." Ed muttered darkly. Good. He was getting in character. He'd be sulking in a corner any minute now.

"Then just put your arms inside and reach out with scales drawn on them." Roy suggested. "Or just reach out. Looking deathly pale, maybe."

"But I'm _not!_"

"Quit whining." _Straighten up and fly right. Life is not a piece of cake. _And Roy did not want to think about how he knew that… "Help me with this jacket."

Some minutes of struggling later, they dropped the jacket, panting. "It would work a lot better if you'd ordered a jacket the right size. This is _tiny_."

Roy nodded glumly, staring at it. "I don't get it." They both stared for a while.

"Winry?" Ed suggested. "Nah. She doesn't wear that stuff. The blonde mechanic." He explained.

"She might know someone…" Roy suggested hopefully.

"_Winry?_ Winry's friends are ancient mechanics. Have you got a girlfriend?"

Roy had ditched her last week and been too busy to get another one.

Ed sighed reluctantly. There was only one course left, and they both knew it. It was just… so… wrong.

"Hughes." They muttered in disgusted unison.

"And it's all your fault." Ed added.

Hughes could not get the jacket on, either. They had to sit and look at Elysia for unbearably long moments before she actually _arrived _with her mother. Gracia took one look at the jacket and sighed in disgust – but she knew how to get it on. _And _she found that there were arm holes in Ed's cape, but that they had been sewn up. She had scissors on hand, and while Hughes babbled about Elysia, she cut them free.

"Ah, Gracia." Roy sighed happily, not daring to move lest the jacket realize he was alive and eat him like an octopus devours a shrimp. "A vision of sense in a crazy world."

Hughes was too busy with Elysia to make a Jealous Comment, assuming he would, so Gracia made one for him, along the lines of did he want to see what a sensible woman carried to deter scoundrels? Roy just grinned. He knew Gracia pretty well, as she had been helping him out of one trouble or another for ages. He didn't know what he would have done about the Incident of the Non-Dry-Cleaned Uniform without her.

"Right, let's go." Ed decided, fidgeting. "We'll be late. It's starting in five minutes."

Hughes' head jerked up. "Five minutes? I have to be there to introduce it!"

Shortly thereafter, they were all bundled into Gracia's car, glad that the police were too busy with the tournament to bother with petty things like speed limits. Gracia and Elysia would have to go, it was decided, which was all well and good for Elysia, who was a princess every day and was dressed up like one anyway and Roy did _not _want one of those peanuts, it had been on the floor, didn't she know _anything_? Which almost caused the car to go off the road.

Once they were safely on their way again, it was decided that Gracia was a Random Event.

Roy and Ed fit in very nicely with the tournament crowd. In fact, they were perhaps among the more normally dressed; Armstrong had gone as a barbarian, which was dead scary, and that person looked like a vampire, and how long had that guy been working to get a werewolf costume like _that?_

"Ladies and gentlemen!" Hughes boomed, and the general chatter died. The volume was turned down. "Welcome to the first Ultimate Fantasy Bloodbath XVII tournament. I am glad you have all decided to come, but I am afraid I have some unfortunate news for you. Firstly, the Fuhrer has never heard of UFB, and therefore there can be no promotions –" He was drowned out in a general roar, of which Ed and Roy were a prominent part.

"_However_," Hughes continued, reminding everyone of the consequences if they didn't listen, "Elysia has promised to give a hug to the winner."

Well… at least it wasn't photos. It took some time to calm the crowd again. Fuery, who was in on it all, wondered how Hughes intended to survive afterward, and hoped he wasn't mentioned.

"Also, as so many of you have showed interest, not only in the rewards, but in the game itself, the tournament _will _be held after all. The main point is that you all had fun, you know a lot more about Elysia…" After all, it had been Hughes who had known everything about the tournament. Now he paused, and everyone waited expectantly for him to finish his speech so they could finish the tournament and then jump him in a dark alley.

Hughes wasn't sure he wanted to say the next part. It was quite the dilemma. He rather thought he had lost the bet no matter how it went. He'd been given the time until the tournament, and somehow it just hadn't quite worked out properly. It should have been more than enough time. And he knew they both wanted it. The problem was, if he said this next part, chances were the two of them would both think the other didn't like it, and so they'd pretend they didn't either, and they'd go spinning off like toppled bowling pins. If he said it and it wasn't true, really, truly true, he lost the bet. If he didn't say it, he lost the bet. But at least if he said it he had a chance at winning the bet. Hughes wavered, crossed his fingers, and continued. "And congratulations to Edward Elric and Colonel Roy Mustang on their new relationship!"

Huh?

Silence, except for a rustle as everyone turned to stare at the two of them. Dark magician/emo sans cape and glasses – Roy _knew _they would come off posthaste, and there certainly had been enough excitement – stared momentarily at tight black leather gangster/bounty hunter.

_Well, why not? _Ed-as-magician/emo thought. _If Roy doesn't like it, he can fix it. I don't really want to. _He waited for Roy to say something.

Well… the kid hadn't blown his top. Roy thought. That had to be a good sign. And he had to think hard to remember to call Ed the kid. He looked at Hughes, wavering visibly for anyone to see (except they were all watching the magician/emo and the gangster/bounty hunter), and decided if worst came to worst he could tell Ed it was a delicate political situation. All kinds of undercurrents the other alchemist didn't know about. Dangerous business, and he'd handled it. And maybe Ed would think that was cool and look up to him more for handling it properly. Or maybe he'd just not object, which would be the best.

"Uh… thanks, Hughes." Roy said finally, deciding he won either way. Ed beamed.


End file.
